


The Sea

by skelli



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Light Choking, M/M, Oral Sex, and it's technically uk/us not us/uk, moderately established relationship, or we can say established feelings, this is off the assumption that england and america are not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 22:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14579013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skelli/pseuds/skelli
Summary: With their relationship at its most fragile, America finds the chance to spend some one-on-one time with England, so he works at reestablishing their closeness as he explores his attachment to a man his life has been ever intertwined with.





	The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I've read a few Hetalia UK/US djs/fics that have been really good about delving into the depth of their relationship and I wanted to just write a piece as well. It's mostly just my interpretation and my headcanons for how the universe works and it's a moderately serious piece because I like the angst, lol. Because of that the characterization is chosen from an angle that portrays England as a more dominant character so if you prefer America as a dominant, this might not be the fic you're looking for. I'm partially unsatisfied with the flow or maybe with the second half but overall I don't dislike the work so I hope that you enjoy it if even just a little.

The clinging haze of a fresh cigarette’s smoke burned against his skin. He had smoked in his days but recently it just turned his stomach sour, making it hard to put anything else to his lips. This brand… it had been some time since he had smelled it and the familiarity that punched his gut was like he had gone back to that time when he did indulge the habit. 

He stared across the table at the ankle casually settled on top of a knee where dark slacks tapered off to a dark sock and a shiny dress shoe. At the still crisp white shirt, striking in the dim light and against the dark tie which had been untied and left to sit loosely around his drinking partner’s neck. The cigarette’s illumination allowed long, elegant fingers and a strong gaze under heavy eyebrows to be seen more clearly. 

Between them sat two glasses. On his partner’s side, whiskey on the rocks. On his own, simply a water now. His last few drinks were settling strangely inside him and he wasn’t sure if maybe he was already a little drunk or just not feeling well. The soft conversation among other customers was muffled with the gentle trickle of classical music but for the most part, they had their privacy. 

The cigarette lowered slowly, catching his attention which was muddled in observing and the past and him trying to place the clenching in his chest. Between a stream of well controlled smoke, the man smiled devilishly, sharp but perfectly handsome. 

“I thought you liked the night scene, America.” 

Truly, Alfred didn’t know how to respond. Not only to Arthur having used his official name or to the comment. Somehow he felt he was being laid bare without his permission and bitterly he thought what he did in his own country and free time was of no concern to the older gentleman. 

Arthur relaxed back again in his seat, hand floating up weightlessly, gracefully, “Well, certainly this may be less your scene.” He turned his head a fraction, pulling in another lungful of smoke and after he released it up to the ceiling, he continued, “But this is our first time seeing each other in quite some time.” 

Alfred didn’t know how to take in the intensity of Arthur’s gaze. His attention felt heavy, weighing on his shoulders and he squeezed his folded hands together tighter. If he looked away, somehow he felt like he would be losing so he held on and maintained eye contact.

“So let’s have some fun. Don’t be so stiff. I insist,” Arthur waved his hand up and caught the bartender’s attention and before Alfred, who had straightened up in readying protest could say anything, he motioned for another round of drinks, “You have another drink.” The final syllable was biting and Alfred caught a glance as he tore his gaze back away from the bartender of Arthur’s teeth. 

There were things he wanted to respond back with but all of them felt lacking, childish even. His expression was one harder to maintain and Arthur cocked a teasing eyebrow. 

“Don’t give me such a hostile look.” But his tone proved his amusement. “I think you’ve had a long enough break.” With a slight motion with his chin, he motioned to Alfred’s half finished water. Then he closed his eyes momentarily, smile an echoing mirage of one Alfred secretly kept very dear to his heart, “It’s nice to be able to let loose every once in awhile.”

Alfred had a growing suspicion that there wasn’t any intention between either of them to actually let loose of anything tonight. 

With that the bartender placed on the table new coasters and set down the next round of whiskey. Alfred gave Arthur an annoyed crinkle of his eyebrows. Bastard hadn’t even asked his preference. But, either pretending he hadn’t noticed or having actually not noticed at all, Arthur tossed back the final lingering drink in his last cup and allowed the bartender to collect the glass. 

He came forward, placing both feet on the floor and lifted the new glass into the air. His cigarette was still in his other hand between his fingers, letting a thin wisp of smoke ripple into the air. Offering the body of the glass towards Alfred, he smiled, “Cheers.” And Alfred was then immaculately wrangled into accepting the drink.

“Cheers.” 

The burn was clean, he had to admit and the sweetness that lingered in the flavor made it hard to hate Arthur’s taste. Lowering the glass back to its coaster, a warmth was now coiling in his gut, heating the back of his neck behind his collar. 

“Come now, America,” Arthur chuckled, putting the cigarette out in the ashtray, “Taste a little more.” His body’s fluidity was amazing and without even a pause he pulled out his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped the box for a new cigarette, pulling it free with his lips. “I love this particular brand. Even boys like you with a sweet tooth can appreciate it.” 

Just to make a point, Alfred threw back a splash feeling both the alcohol and the word ‘boys’ squeeze his stomach. His hooded, heated gaze glared as if to say, ‘Happy?’

Arthur seemed quite. He lit his cigarette and let out a sigh as if it were a breath of fresh air. For a moment, he seemed content with just enjoying the atmosphere and Alfred was lulled into a strange sense of nostalgia, a mangle of emotions and the hot heat of whiskey. Damn, he slid back in his chair. This was why he wanted to finish the night with water. All his thoughts were being overcome with feelings- some he wanted to acknowledge, some he didn’t. 

“I come here rather frequently after our meetings.” Arthur murmured, long eyelashes angled downward into the light of his cigarette. 

They sat once more in silence, and when Arthur put this cigarette out as well, his heavy gaze flicked to Alfred’s untouched drink, “The Almighty United States of America concedes to one glass of whiskey?” 

“I’m not conceding.” Damn, he knew how to push his buttons. “It’s a sipping drink, isn’t it.” 

Arthur hummed behind his hand, chin resting on his palm. “Quite right.” 

Behind his glass, Alfred muttered back, “You just don’t know how to pace yourself.”

“What a bold statement coming from the party boy.”

That burned at his cheeks, “I’m not the only party boy at this table!” 

Letting out a laugh, a genuine laugh that sucked the very heat of Alfred’s anger right out from his stomach, Arthur gave Alfred a smile brimming with gentle devotion and fondness, “Guilty as charged.” He set his finished glass back down on the table. “Shall we?” He stood and this time Alfred was impeccably wrangled into finishing his drink much faster than he had anticipated. 

Arthur’s hands slipped perfectly into two black gloves and he pulled his coat back on, leaving with simply a word to the bartender. Alfred was left following in his footsteps, yanking on his bomber jacket in somewhat of a fumble. He didn’t know how to make eye contact with the man running the bar so he simply didn’t. 

The chill of the night hit his face when he stepped out and while England seemed unbothered by cold, America felt his spine stiffen. Now that he was outside, the heat of the whiskey was appreciated, making the winter night only a tickling numbness along his limbs. Arthur turned back to him, hands in his pockets. 

“It’s nice to be able to see the stars on Winter nights.” 

His composure startled Alfred and the younger man stared openly, eyebrow pinching. 

“I thought you didn’t know how to handle your liquor.” He muttered, annoyed he was even a little drunk himself. 

Arthur laughed softly and with a slight tilt of his head, indicated Alfred to follow. “I’m not drunk yet.”

They walked side by side, only the lights of houses or businesses and the street lamps giving life to the dim street. Their shoes clacked nicely on the cobblestone, arms almost touching and Alfred knew that because he was tipsy on whiskey it was okay for him to show this docile side but if it had been anything else, his emotions might have gotten the better of him. 

“Mind if I light one last one for the night?” 

His eyes moved to look into his oldest companion’s gentle expression. 

“I know you don’t particularly like cigarettes.” 

Now he was showing consideration? Maybe he was still just a brat, just someone putting on the front of a grown man, but Alfred felt sometimes he really didn’t understand adults. 

“Go ahead.” 

They paused simultaneously as Arthur lit what would count down their final moments together. The waft of smoke that coiled into the night sky was both evocative and lonely and both men watched as it faded into simply the stars. 

At first he didn’t notice, but he was staring and so when Arthur returned the intensity of his gaze it startled him. The emptiness of the street, not a car, not a person, made Alfred’s intoxicated consciousness build a barrier against the world for them where it was intimate and timeless even though he knew the end was coming soon. 

After another moment, Arthur asked slowly, “Do you want one?”

He shouldn’t. He knew that. But it was Arthur’s brand. It smelled like him on nights when he went out to the pubs. It smelled like… he couldn’t say it. (Home.)

“Yeah.” He mumbled drunkenly. 

England gave him a slightly exasperated smile, and knocked the box so that Alfred could take one. 

“They’re not good for you.”

“I know that..” 

Arthur watched him as he put the cigarette between his lips and then came forward to light it with the tip of his own, whispering between them, “I just feel I should say it.” 

It hurt to suck in but as they held each other’s gaze between their shared smoke, it felt like both a weight had lifted from his chest and another had replaced it of a different size or maybe shape. He sighed out, white streaking the air around them and he was gifted a brief, sweet smile from across the cloud.

Once more they took to walking. There was a train Arthur had to catch. 

“England.” 

“Hm?” He was putting the burnt out cigarette into a case and he turned, offering the case to Alfred, “Are you also finished?”

How perceptive and typical of one who had taken on a caretaker’s role. “Well, yeah,” Alfred stumbled, “But that’s not what I was..” He slipped his own cigarette inside and returned the case. “That’s not what I was going to say.” 

They stood before the glimmering light of the train station. The spell of their isolation had broken and on both sides people walked up and down the stairs, the noise echoing against the walls. England was illuminated by the light spilling from the open archway and he turned fully. 

“What is it?” 

It was almost hard to keep his eyes on the man, the glare of the lights and the power of his eyes on him. He even sniffled. (When was he going to be an adult?)

“I..” 

Arthur gave him a patient moment before saying, “The last train is soon.”

His heart had begun to race. Maybe he was drunker than he thought. “I.. don’t. Don’t go just yet, England.” But something wasn’t quite right. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and mumbled, “Don’t go, Arthur.” 

Arthur returned from the first step he had ascended and Alfred could only stare at the pair of shoes that had entered his vision of the ground. A gentle, gloved hand took hold of his upper arm and gave it a squeeze. 

“Well, if you ask like that.” 

Damn! It was almost painful how embarrassed he was. But he wouldn’t take it back. He knew he couldn’t even if he tried. Whiskey made him a little more honest. 

But he could collect himself and he mumbled, “I know this place near here that I think you’ll like.”

“Another bar?” A hint of surprise or maybe amusement. 

Alfred shot him a look, “You said you weren’t drunk yet..” 

Arthur smiled, a pretty smile, “How considerate of you. Lead the way.”

Motioning with a jerk of his head, Alfred began walking away from the light of the station and the light of the public. 

“Will you be okay to keep drinking though,” Arthur hummed, touching the back of his gloved fingers to Alfred’s cheek, “You seem a little drunk.” 

Alfred didn’t even push the hand away, “I’m fine.”

Would he call this loneliness? Not quite. Maybe longing. But it was so tight and narrow Alfred knew only one person could fit in this space in his heart. 

“I won’t be able to make the last train.” Now there was a hint of expectation.

“We’ll figure it out. I usually stay at a hotel not far from the station.” A pause. “It’s in the opposite direction though.” 

Arthur seemed pleased. “That’s fine. More time to walk together.”

Like puzzle pieces, they had fallen back together perfectly. Alfred didn’t have it within him so late into the night to force himself away from such a comforting relationship. It was like the later it got, the more he longed to feel acknowledged for something more than just being The United States of America. 

But even he didn’t know how to put that feeling into words so he just let it stew within him as he walked alongside his mentor, his caretaker, his captor, his victim. 

“It’s here.” 

They stopped before a small, quiet looking bar and Arthur gave him a side eyed glance which he definitely saw.

Pulling the door open for the other, he muttered, “Hey, I can like sophisticated things too..”

“Quite right.” Arthur smiled as he walked in. “Quite right.” 

Xxx

He was a dash more drunk than he had wanted to be at the start of the night. And by a dash, he was several drinks past his usual stopping point and into needing to borrow a shoulder. 

“Pick up your feet.” 

A long pause between him and Arthur. 

“Pick up your feet, Alfred.” 

Alfred’s eyelashes fluttered open and he let out a long sigh. The liquor and his unsightly behavior were pulling him away from reality but hearing his name brought the quiet cold and the strength of arms holding him up back to him.

“Sorry..” He mumbled, pushing his remaining strength into his legs so they could continue walking. “Guess I’ve had a little too much.”

A brief chuckle, “I told you you didn’t need to keep up with me.”

“Why in the hell aren’t you drunk..” 

Arthur hummed, “Why indeed.” 

Alfred had had enough of Arthur always being one step ahead of him. “You’re supposed to be a bad..” He almost slipped. “Drunk..” 

“Those kinds of stories are from a long time ago.” 

Somehow those words made Alfred’s chest sink with loneliness and he looked quietly, drunkenly, at their shoes as they walked together. His thoughts were trailing along behind him, scattering along the cobblestone like raindrops against the street. 

Fluttering along his face, the street lights came and faded like the passing of the sun from day to night. He was tired, drifting along and when Arthur settled him on the steps outside the slender hotel, he rested his head on the wall, aching deep at the passing of Arthur’s hand which had patted his head as he had walked into the building. 

Alfred’s head dropped to his knees. He never got this drunk when he was with Honda. He was usually helping Honda out of the bar with a grin on his face and an arm around his friend. Hell, even if he wasn’t there, Francis was the one who helped Arthur home and sometimes Alfred would go help collect his caretaker from the taxi, half dragging him, half supporting him, looking into that drunken smile and warm cheeks. The lingering scent of cigarettes and liquor mixing with Arthur’s cologne settling against his clothes as he would drop the man onto his bed only to be called down next to him was vivid in his mind’s eye. Even in his exasperation, he would go so he could hear Arthur tell him how happy he was to finally be home-

“Alfred, come.” Arthur’s voice erupted, cutting into his floating, dream-like consciousness, “I’ve got us a room.” 

The sound of footsteps and the presence of another stood beside him on the step. He lifted his head and fixed his glasses. There was a slight chuckle and a gloved finger swiped along his cheek, “You have your pants imprinted on your face.” 

He was able to walk into the hotel without much trouble although it took effort and he could easily assume the person working at the counter probably knew he had been drinking. Coming into the room and turning on the lights, Arthur shifted to take his coat off and settle in one of the lounging chairs while Alfred simply threw himself on the bed shoes still on. 

A breath rushed out of him and he closed his eyes, glasses pushing into the bridge of his nose and the side of his face. With his feet dangling off the bed, his hands roamed along the cool surface of the comforter, body relaxing into the stiff mattress. 

“At least take off your shoes.” 

“I’m getting to it..” 

Mind still heavy with alcohol and need for sleep, he laid there for several long moments, not thinking, not processing, just right on the edge of existing. He turned over with a sigh and sat up, rocking up left and then right and tossed off each shoe without concern. Then he flopped back down onto the pillows, facing the ceiling. 

Arthur had a cigarette in one hand and his cellphone in the other. Probably checking email. Alfred watched silently, remembering a time when Arthur struggled to open the browser on his phone and would have to ask Alfred for help. 

And then it just came out. 

“Do you hate me because I’ve grown up?”

Arthur looked up, setting his phone down on the small table next to the ashtray. “You’re still very much a child.”

A pause. “Then,” He knew there was a way to ask about their relationship. He closed his eyes, trying his best to put it into proper words. “Do you hate me because I’ve gotten big?” 

Arthur stared at him over his cigarette, eyes cold. “I don’t hate you, Alfred.” 

“I can’t help it, you know. People just grow.”

“You’re really trying to have this conversation right now, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. 

“When else are we going to have it?”

“When you’re sober.”

“I can’t..” A hiccup. “I can’t ask when I’m sober.” (I’m afraid of your answers.)

Arthur let out a stream of smoke in silence. 

“Did you want me to stay small forever?”

No response. Alfred’s eyes fluttered open to look at the ceiling and then to Arthur. “Are you going to forgive me?”

Arthur stood in one fluid motion and put out his cigarette as he moved towards Alfred’s bed. He sat down, turning towards the other man to look into his face with his unmoving expression. “As always, Alfred, you forget your manners.” His voice was unbearably small, just above a whisper, “Where’s your apology in the first place?” Oh, those eyes, that gaze was too heavy. There was the weight of powerful emotions behind the lingering question between them and Alfred had to turn away. 

But still it was like a punch to the gut and a tear slipped across his cheek that he quickly moved a hand up to wipe away under his glasses. 

“I don’t know how to apologize for that.” He said a little helplessly. 

Arthur watched him, relentless. “You’ve always shown your selfish side at times like this.”

That hurt him too. “It’s.. I.. I couldn’t..”

“You couldn’t stay?”

Alfred looked to Arthur wordlessly. 

“You chose yourself over our relationship and now you want me to forgive you so you can have both.”

“I didn’t make the choice because I wanted to hurt you, Arthur.” 

“No,” Arthur agreed with him slowly, coldly, resting back to sit up straight, “You made a choice like the United States of America would- destructive, self-important and without concern for those who it would affect.”

“Arthur..”

“You say you want my forgiveness? What have you done for my country? Where is your sense of hospitality? Why doesn’t America recognize its European blood?”

“You- you know I can’t do that. My people.. They won’t..”

“So you can’t do anything between our countries.”

“I’m talking about.. I’m talking about us anyway.”

“There is no us without the fate of our people.”

“I’ll- I’ll do anything I, Alfred Jones, can do.”

Arthur’s silence awed him and suddenly he realized how large an offer he had made. 

“Anything the grand old hero can do, hm?”

Alfred swallowed dryly at the growing grin on his caretaker’s face. 

“Then submit to me, Alfred. Like you were supposed to.”

Xxx

Gods, it hurt. It hurt in so many ways, he couldn’t breathe. He gasped against the gripping weight on his heart and lungs and the ache in his guts. Embarrassment and pain tightened all the muscles up his naked back and while he was completely unclothed, Arthur sat perfectly composed on the closed toilet save his shoes.

“Don’t hide yourself, Alfred.” Arthur commented from behind his cigarette as he stared at Alfred’s fumbling movements. 

Feeling his own body clenching involuntarily knowing he was being watched, Alfred complained, “It’s easy for you to say that..”

“Then I guess we’re the same in that fashion, hm.” 

He knew his expression had crumpled hearing those words, a shivering breath escaping into the walls. They had barely begun this process and already he wanted to just put his underwear back on and go to sleep. 

“It’s hard isn’t it?” Arthur hummed as if reading his mind, “You have to do it properly, Alfred.” 

“I’m trying!” 

“You’ve barely even relaxed the muscle.”

Taking his bottom lip between his teeth in his embarrassment, he shifted the conversation, trying to find some footing, “And you just.. /casually/..” His eyes couldn’t help but shift to the counter where the enema sat still in its box, “Bought that?” 

“As well as condoms. You were supposed to at least relax during that time.” 

Alfred’s face folded, a pout pushing out his lips, “I got it, I got it. Just give me that box.” 

Arthur passed him the enema kit, “At least you’ve sobered up. Since you wanted to have this moment so badly.”

Alfred opened the box, giving his former caretaker a side eye. _Anyone would sober up when they have to prepare the same ass for someone who had wiped it when they were a kid._ “Whatever.” He muttered, looking at the instructions, “All this.. doesn’t this just prove you’re a pervert?”

Arthur raised one slow eyebrow at him. 

“You want me to give you my ass- like wouldn’t beating me up be good enough to make your point?”

“Is this difficult for you? Do you want to quit halfway?”

Alfred knew these were leading questions. He stared at Arthur, and they knew he would answer yes to both questions so he pushed out, “Well, yeah..” It was hard for a reason other than what he was willing to say. 

“Then this is what I want.” He put out his cigarette in the ashtray he had brought from the other room, “Can’t you care a little more about my forgiveness?” He sighed, resting back on the toilet, “I couldn’t even call this half assed yet.” 

Arthur felt an honest guilt from those words and looked down into the tub solemnly. Was he really always being selfish when it came to Arthur? He didn’t know. Sometimes he thought the man was just too uptight, too rigid about the rules but now he didn’t have the same confidence. Maybe he really had been a selfish bastard through and through. Just a half assed brat who took Arthur’s kindness for a weakness. But must this be strangled from him?

Arthur’s eyes were heavy but not on him. “Anyways, I would never resort to violence for such.”

Alfred sat with those words for a long moment. 

“I’m gonna use this okay,” His voice had become tight with tears he was holding back, “So give me a little privacy.” 

“Alright.” Arthur stood, taking with him the ashtray and his cigarettes. “I’ll be out here.” 

And he closed the door. 

Xxx

By himself, he was able to relax much easier and with the distraction of his thoughts, even found himself growing hot at the throat and in his stomach pressing against his guts. It had to be with the tender hand of whiskey still nudging at him. But either way, flushed, he left the bathroom, mind a warm soft white. 

He didn’t want to think too hard anymore. If he thought too hard, he knew everything would come spiraling down. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to even leave the bathroom, worried he didn’t have the endurance to make it back to Arthur’s warm arms. 

Arthur lowered his phone, gaze smoothing across Alfred’s naked skin, but lingering nowhere. He set his phone on the table, unfolding his legs and spreading them nicely. “You look well.” He cocked his head slightly, motioning with one hand, “Why don’t you come here then?”

So Alfred came. He could see that the space Arthur had opened up between his legs was for him and so he kneeled down, body buzzing and guts still thrumming. A soft caress across his chest made him focus and he looked up into Arthur’s smile which was no more a smile than it was a smirk. 

“You’ve lost weight recently.” 

Pursing his lips, “I’ve been _working out_..” 

“That’s very diligent of you with your appetite.” 

He pushed Arthur’s hand away, “This is totally not making the mood.” 

And Arthur laughed at that, stroking Alfred’s cheek with his thumb, “You’re right. Sorry.” The hand moved sweetly around his face until it was underneath his chin and he tilted Alfred’s head back slightly so they looked eye to eye. “How about you get me into the mood?”

Alfred felt a twist in his stomach and he swallowed roughly. He couldn’t quite break eye contact and when he said nothing, Arthur’s thumb softly ran along his bottom lip. 

“Is it your first time?”

He had his reservations about answering the question. Even though it made his cheeks flush, he softly muttered, “It’s not my first time.” 

“O-h?” Arthur bent down and through his sharp smile he whispered, “Well, looks like my little Alfy is all grown up.” 

He wanted to bite those words right out of Arthur’s mouth. Each word stuck like a needle, condescending and contradictory. He knew Arthur didn’t think of him of as an adult and was simply playing games that Alfred wasn’t good at. He was pressing knives into places he knew hurt. 

“So,” Arthur rested back into the chair, hand now stroking through Alfred’s hair, “You know what to do then.” 

He hated how familiar and tender Arthur’s touch was. He hated how it gently calmed his frustration, like how it used to lull him into a sleep at night when he was only a child. He shifted forward, hands slipping up the man’s thighs and he said, “Yeah, of course.”

He paused.

The sensation of expensive cloth under his fingers and the smell of Arthur’s cologne, delicate and simple. His body went numb, buzzing right on the edge of his logic. He hadn’t imagined he would be here so soon or to these circumstances. More so he was realizing that simply getting what he wanted had consequences of the _way_ he was to receive it. 

A finger brushed along his cheekbone, snapping him back into reality. He looked up, and Arthur’s eyes devoured all the things he couldn’t hide. 

“You can stop, you know.” Arthur said after a moment. 

A pinching rose up from his chest into his throat and Alfred knew it was frustrated tears. _Don’t fuck with me you old asshole._ He clenched his hands into fists along Arthur’s slacks. “How can you-” His voice cut with his oncoming tears, “How can you say that after everything-..?”

Arthur’s eyes just pierced him from above. Saying things he wouldn’t say out loud. He didn’t break eye contact as he pulled another cigarette from his pack and lit it. That same coldness lingered on his expression. Where was the Arthur who looked at him like he was an angel sent down for him?

This was his punishment. Alfred knew that he was being punished and that he was going to continue having to hold the weight of his betrayal at his throat, strangling him until he laid himself bare again. 

“I’m going to do it! Okay? You got that?”

He could do this, he could do it a million times if he needed to. If it meant Arthur would stop looking at him like that. All he had to do was take that first step.

Fingers trembling, Alfred took hold of Arthur’s belt and pulled the leather through, opening it. Then he pushed the button free and unzipped his pants. The smell of a burning cigarette fluttered around him, sinking into him with memories of a time when Alfred quit smoking for him when he was a child. 

Alfred pulled Arthur’s flaccid member into the open, and although he knew Arthur was still staring down at him as intensely as before, he couldn’t help but glance up, desperate to see the how the man looked in his suit casually smoking a cigarette with his cock out. 

Augh, damn. 

He looked damn cool. Alfred made eye contact, briefly, with that cool stare, unwavering and flickering with the fire of his cigarette. The elbow he had propped himself on was the arm that held his cigarette to his lips and it showed no tension. He was in control and he knew that. 

Heart racing, Alfred swallowed at the thickening in his stomach. He settled in closer between Arthur’s legs, suddenly very aware of how naked he was and how much different their exposed bodies were. He was hot at the ears now and Arthur could see that. He could see everything and his free hand gently pinched at the heat. 

That pinched at him in other places too. He gripped at one of Arthur’s thighs, making sure to keep his hand around the man’s penis from squeezing too tight. His cheeks were warm, warm enough he worried they might fog his glasses. 

Desperately he wanted to endure whatever was thrown his way even if he stumbled. He had overwhelming love for his mentor, _his_ England, but the pressure of Arthur’s cruelty, his cold attitude, was something suffocating on him. If he could warm Arthur again, maybe he would finally forgive him and he could see those eyes that looked down on him with unbearably sweet fondness again. 

He could feel the weight of Arthur’s cock on his tongue down into his core. Arthur’s hand came down and leafed through his hair and he whispered between a well crafted, pretty smile. 

“Good boy, America.” 

God, he wanted to swallow so hard but his mouth was full. His chest was full too. So he simply moaned against Arthur, trying not to let saliva run down his chin. If he didn’t start focusing, Arthur would never get hard. That hand had moved around and now held his jaw like a fine dish of china. 

He burned at that attention, the press of Arthur’s pointer finger in his flesh scandalous and (wonderful). Pulling a wet tongue along the bottom, he brought a hand up to help himself, stroking and found solas in simple action. A bottomless well of affection could lead to anything, even the play of tasting like eating a piece of candy. The head kissed along his cheek, alive and awake and Arthur gave a sweet caress with his thumb at Alfred’s success.

“Certainly quite the mood maker you are. Nothing less of what is to be expected of the United States.” 

Alfred pulled free, lips lingering along the hot flesh. It wasn’t enough. 

That thumb drifted between them and along Alfred’s pinkened lips, “I could just paint your pretty face white right here.”

There he knew that this was a test. If he were to take such bait, Arthur’s cold gaze would only narrow in mocking disappointment. This he knew. If he knew of anything and everything of his mentor, it was his ability to play a good game of chicken. 

Murmuring it into the man’s lap, he didn’t have the heart to face him, he demanded, “Fuck me.”

“What was that?”

“I said fuck me.” Confidence reborn like a phoenix, he met the gaze he trembled under with intensity and found within it a spark of interest. Two could play this game. 

“Very well.” Arthur stood, the cigarette long since put out, cold and dead in the tray. “Come here, stand, and help me undress.” 

Alfred stood, watching Arthur toss his suit jacket across the back of the chair. Knowing it was now his place, he brought a hand up and delicately took hold of Arthur’s tie. They shared a long, lingering look between them before Alfred’s eyes lowered, eyelashes to rosy cheeks and he pulled it down. 

The slender cloth slithered to the floor. Hands spreading along Arthur’s still clothed chest, Alfred felt emotions he couldn’t express in words. A heavy concoction of nostalgia, awe and affection. His eyelashes moved as he relearned what he already knew quite well with both his hands and his eyes. 

Arthur’s eyes never left his face. 

“Continue, Alfred.”

When he finished unbuttoning, Alfred pushed away the shirt like opening a door and let it fall to the floor. But his hands ghosted back along Arthur’s ribs, settling for a moment at his hips. A shy glance to that handsome face. Then he leaned in, delicately pressing his face to the crook of Arthur’s throat. Hands that could barely be felt, as if afraid, touched along the man’s bare back. 

Gently, a hand pressed along the back of Alfred’s neck, holding him still and close. A palm warm and with reserved strength. What tenderness awaited him over the horizon. Softly he moved back, careful, and gazed up over his glasses to his beloved mentor and, with coy fingers, slid them into man’s slacks and tugged down his pants, the clicking of his belt echoing in their intimate silence. 

Arthur stepped forward, resolute in his action and powerful and laid a touch of his lips to Alfred’s cheek, “To the bed then.” 

Private, reflectful fingertips lingered over that spot. When he whirled around, lowering his hand, Arthur’s sitting figure awaited him, offering one socked foot.

“You’re almost done.” 

Memories bubbled up out of him just listening to England. A voice that reminded him when he would do school work at the dinner table, complaining. Well, maybe in the past that voice was less playful, less controlled. It was more of a scold. He almost wanted to laugh. Maybe it was completely different to now. He just wanted to connect all his Arthur’s together. He loved Arthur in his memories. He loved Arthur now. 

Kneeling, he pressed his forehead to Arthur’s shin, holding the man’s foot preciously. “I love you, Arthur.” 

Silence met him. But he was unwavering in his devotion. Quietly, a hand came down and petted through his hair. Soft words, “I know.” 

It struck him to finally be acknowledged and all he could do for a moment was ride the bittersweet wave of relief and pain, breathing in heavily as he pressed his forehead against Arthur’s leg. Arthur had also endured things for him, and had carried a love just as heavy and crippling as his own, he was sure. There were more things that Arthur had overcome for him than he probably knew. The hand that had given him life and confidence. 

Pulling down the sock, Alfred’s gaze blurred, and his glasses caught a tear against the glass. He moved to the other foot, knowing somehow of his mentor and his savior’s struggle now. Knowing they mirrored each other in many ways. 

When he stood and looked down upon the gorgeous naked body and smart eyes of Arthur, the tears only fell faster, running down his cheeks. 

“Come here, Alfred.” Arthur said through a slight smile, offering him a hand. 

Upon taking it, he was maneuvered onto his back and Arthur’s pretty figure moved around above him. He let himself lay still, hands folded atop his chest and tears wetting his face. A gentle smile came into view, Arthur looking down on him with such a vast ocean of emotions that there was no way for the tears to stop. 

“Why are you crying, Alfred?” Slender fingers carefully pulled the glasses from America’s face as the question they both knew the answer to sat between them. The tone of Arthur’s voice was so comforting that quickly, Alfred pulled up his arm and hid his crying face in his embarrassment. 

“Alfred..” 

“Show me your face, Alfred.” A hand pulled away his arm, a fond, exasperated and terribly handsome smile blurring in his eyes. 

“Stupid Arthur.” He sniffled out. 

A tender kiss to his lips, “I told you you were still a child…” 

But earlier’s coldness didn’t penetrate those words and that ripped from him a relieved half sob, his arm stiff and eager to return and cover his vulnerability. Instead Arthur held fast and looked down on him, lips touched ever so softly with a smile. 

“Turn over, Alfred.” 

He pushed himself onto his stomach with the strength of his elbow, somewhat thankful his face was no longer the main attraction. His tears just wouldn’t stop, wetting the pillow he hugged to himself shamelessly. 

A hand petted down his back, warm and firm and gave a light tap to one of his buttcheeks, “Lift your hips and try to relax.” 

For a moment, he was left alone and worked to calm himself. Then the sinking weight on the bed alerted him of Arthur’s return. The snap of a bottle and then a cool, wetness on his skin. “I’m going to play a little.” Fingers touched him, caressing him all the way from the tip of his penis to his tailbone. Then they sank right into him, powerful and demanding. 

Submit to me. A little deeper and he almost lost his breath. Pressing his face into the pillow, he felt through the mingling sensation of pain and weight inside him to the core of its pleasure. Among other lovers he had a tendency to be a little selfish and proud although this was not disliked by those he had slept with. But here, he felt a tingling prickle up his spine that the pain was even to some extent necessary. His mouth opened hotly against the pillowcase, wanting to feel each press in his guts just a little harder. 

“You seem quite ready. I’ll give you a third.” 

Who in the world had the United States submitted to? There was no one but himself at the top. Nobody could triumph over the Hero, the personification of justice. If no one could take his title away, then he could live that mirage for as long as he liked, sitting on a throne built of modern American poisons. But who did Alfred F. Jones lay beneath? Was he nothing more than an image, a face? 

Alfred F. Jones was still a man. Someone with a past, and a weakness for heavy eyebrows furrowed at him. Someone who had memories of just himself, and no flag but England’s to live under. School days, and his first love (his only love). He had his own name for God’s sake. He had his personal desires. Things he longed for, things he would sacrifice for. 

This was one. 

His insides pulsed and then as if knowing of everything, squeezed tightly around Arthur’s fingers and he sucked in a breath between his teeth, chewing on his bottom lip. Arthur was sure to-

“Oh?”

Augh, damn. Heat burned at his throat and ears. 

“I’m thrilled beyond that you’re getting so excited, Alfred.” Syrupy words from melted down from above him and Alfred didn’t have the heart to face what he knew would be Arthur’s grin. 

“It’s- it’s not like I can help it.” He explained quickly, knowing Arthur knew of everything but his excuse. His words became tight, “I- I love you.” 

The heat of fingers within him and the weight of their communication held his spine stiff. Softly the other hand came and pressed down on the small of his back, Arthur leaning in, “I love you too, Alfred. You are my everything.” 

A line of arousal so potent and real ran up his nerves that he was left breathless for an electrifying moment, just hot against the pillow. The delicacy of the moment which had taken its ups and downs until this point was raw and rubbed Alfred just the right way even if he was a little tender. His complicated, foundational love for his mentor knew no bounds except for his character and his vulnerability. 

Their relationship defined him in quiet spaces where only they returned to after the day had ended. And even if he complained he lacked the real motivation to actually object. The Almighty United States of America would fold beneath Arthur everytime. If Arthur offered the same kind smile and warm, gentle hand, there would be no opposition from Alfred. 

It hurt him that he was to be manipulated for these private moments. Because he would give them willingly if Arthur so asked. But he had enough guilt to know that this was to be the way they came back together under the weight of his betrayal and forced distance. It was because Arthur was Arthur that they had become complicated or maybe that he had become dishonest. 

A sigh from above as Arthur positioned their hips together. “You look wonderful like this, Alfred.” 

The compliment both burned in good ways and in bad ways so he flushed but he had little time to dwell as the weight in his organs shifted to something hotter and heavier. Pressure drove his body down, folding and Arthur’s body pressed against him, petting through his hair. 

“Did you-” Coming to the realization, Alfred pushed out his worry, “Did you-”

“Of course I put a condom on, my angel.” A kiss to his temple and he shivered, breathing openly against the pillow. 

What could be condescending and capturing, were words that sent sickly sweet twist up his nerves. He was Arthur’s angel thrown from heaven. The Alfred who would laugh and fondly mock an old man’s embarrassing lines was buried beneath relief that he was able to hear them once more. 

He breathed weakly, the tightness up along inside him keeping him on the brink of breathlessness. Arthur’s hands were at his hips, holding him in place as he began to move. A hand touched at the back of his neck, “Alfred..” It trailed down the line back and then caressed one of his buttcheeks. 

At first there was pain, but the fluid and patient movement of Arthur’s hips relaxed Alfred’s muscles and he lay beneath the other man in a dazed space between pleasure and his intense feelings. Their heat and soft groans filled the hotel room. 

“Turn over.” Suddenly, Arthur’s hand took hold of one of Alfred’s arms as he pulled out and rolled Alfred onto his back once more. 

With his tears dried, and the space becoming more private, he felt less embarrassment showing his face. When Arthur grinded up between his legs, he found a charming, sharp smile. A line of sweat at Arthur’s temple and the heat of having sex sitting on his cheeks captured his attention and for a moment he didn’t even realized Arthur’s hands were around his throat. 

“Grab me.” 

“Huh?”

“I said grab me.” The fingers tightened and, startled, Alfred choked and threw up his hands involuntarily. 

Arthur’s intense gaze didn’t stray as he snatched one of those hands, keeping it from hitting him in the face and placed it along his own neck. “Come now, don’t be shy.” 

It’s not shyness! Alfred thought hotly, heart slamming in his ribs. He wanted to pull his hand back but Arthur pulled up his other and placed it on top and stared. The challenge to remove his hands was one Alfred didn’t want to fight and timidly he left his fingers on the bare skin as Arthur’s hands returned. 

“You’re mine, Alfred.” The flood of arousal darkened Arthur’s eyes and when he leaned down, increasing the pressure both on his own throat and Alfred’s, he kissed the slightly parted lips, “And I’m yours.”

Fear and arousal pressed in his guts and Alfred whined slightly, knowing he was expected to do more than just hold his hands in place. 

Rising back up with Alfred’s legs wrapped nicely about his hips, Arthur began moving once more. “Squeeze, Alfred. Show me everything. Lay it all bare. You came here for this.” Shadows about his face and body made his expression harsh and yet all the more handsome. 

Alfred clenched his teeth, both from the strain and from his internal struggle. How could he squeeze the breath from Arthur? His lover, his sun, his-

“Tighter.”

He strengthened his grip and when Arthur pressed to the point of choking, he himself came to squeeze too. His face felt hot and the ever pressing movement in his guts was now making his erection cry sweetly. They clawed at each other, the strength of their hands rising and falling as the other reached peaks of pain and the blinding arousal of trusting one’s life in another’s hands. 

With one true clench, Alfred felt the familiar twist in his stomach, lowering down into his groin, of completion. They were sweating, panting and pushing against one another. In that one clench, he let out a gasp, not even finding his voice beneath Arthur’s hands and splattered their stomachs with his release. 

Moments later, Arthur stiffened and, with a pretty crease of a concentrated frown between his eyebrows, came. 

Raw, exposed to the very depth of his core, there was no longer any lingering shame or timidness. They rose from the bed, and together went to wash off the night. Looking in the pale white light of the bathroom, they wore matching rings not for their fingers but for their throats and he touched gently along the tender skin as Arthur heated a shower. 

Xxx

When he woke once, fluttering back into consciousness from exhaustion, Alfred looked for Arthur first. Even with his muddled mind, still sore from the night’s drinking and their time together, he wanted to make sure. Turning over, he found Arthur’s sleeping face settled on the pillow next to his, pretty and composed and distant. 

And he touched along his cheek and then caressed his jaw and knew Arthur had let him back through a door he thought long ago had closed forever. Settling in he drew his arms about him, and pulled Arthur around so that he could hug him back to chest. 

This roused Arthur, and he woke, still groggy. Looking over his shoulder to the tender expression Alfred wore he smiled sleepily. “What a face…”

Alfred wasn’t sure if he would cry if he responded so he simply pressed his lips together. 

“I don’t mind it though…” Arthur sighed, resting back into the pillows, “I’ve always just seen you as such… just as Alfred.” 

Softly Alfred himself laid back down and simply hugged Arthur closer. Quiet and thoughtful he wondered about the next day when they went back into the public eye and stepped back out of their intimate privacy. He was to become The United States of America and Arthur would return back to being England. 

But would the sea of betrayal and hurt still sit between them? He looked at his fingerprints ever kissing Arthur’s throat and then nuzzled his face into the strawberry blond hair. At least he would know there was to be no more distancing with his almighty name. Maybe only the ups and downs of their complicated relationship. 

And so he slept knowing he would tease England tomorrow with little quips about the night they shared and fondly appreciate their comings and their partings, using the public space to prove the distance was only necessary separation in order for their next time together.


End file.
